


burns like wildfire

by Katraa



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Requited Love, Fluff, Freeform, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Memory-loss, Post Triangulum Arc, and he hates it, not my typical type of work, yamato is in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 17:32:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katraa/pseuds/Katraa
Summary: Hibiki took to summoning like a fish to water.  Paperwork was a different story, as his first report contained an embarrassing amount of typos and misused analogies.  It was ill-formatted and read more like a limerick than anything else. Embarrassing.   Utterly embarrassing.POST TRI ARC:memory loss and hanahaki (that spells trouble)





	burns like wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> i had a really depressing day at work  
> i’m kind of feeling a tad out of it  
> so i thought this might be good therapy  
> split into two parts because i have work in the morning  
> this was typed on my phone so sorry for auto correct

It was for his own protection, really. 

He had read countless books on disease, medicine, and scraped the bottom of every thesis for an answer. He was well-versed in nearly every other infectious abnormality, including those of the supernatural flavor, so why wouldn’t he? Even if every ounce of him believed adamantly it was psychological it still plagued a great deal of society outside the four walls of JP’s. And that was a problem. 

It made no sense. A disease that took root, quite literally, in the lungs and blossomed from feelings of anxiety, despair, hopelessness. It was foolish to think it fed on warmth or anything else. No, this particular ailment fed on the insecurities of the human mind and soul and Yamato found it to be the weakest thing to ever come out of the human race. 

A made-up illness wrought by unrequited feelings. It was messy and silly and moronic. If a person was imprudent enough to have romantic entanglements then surely they would have the stamina to survive rejection. 

People were rejected everyday; from jobs, from that last train that leaves the statin just as you’re running up the platform. And to blame an entire sickness - a made-up sickness - on that rejection? Utterly pathetic. 

And yet it killed more a year than car accidents, than pollution and suicides. It killed a great amount of the society Yamato sought to protect. It was worse than god damn demons. 

And why? Because people got it into their heads from a young age that feelings were dangerous? He couldn’t quite argue with that premise but the conclusions stemming from them were absurd. No one could die of a god damn broken heart. It was not scientifically possible. Stress, perhaps, ill-timed shock to the system, maybe. But for a healthy young adult to fall incredibly ill was nonsensical. 

To spit up petals - full god damn petals - was even more ludicrous. And yet it fascinated him. The disease intrigued him on an intellectual level because he had seen an agent spew petals of a daisy from her mouth when she thought no one was looking. It had to have been staged. No one is capable of growing a flower in their lungs. Surely all she had to do was keep it up her sleeve, between her teeth, and wait. 

Yet the idea struck him as interesting. What if she hadn’t been faking? What if she hadn’t noticed the Chief from afar, too deeply engrossed in her work. It scratched at Yamato, gnawed away at him and his pride in a way he wasn’t used to. This goddamned disease - whether mental or not - should have been none of his business. 

And it wasn’t, not really, what with the demons he sealed and the reports he wrote and the agents he lead on to defend from the shadows. And really it wasn’t, with the way he lived every year of his eighteen with no fear of catching an illness because it just simply did not exist in this reality. With the fact that Yamato refused to give the lunatics any justice because you simply can not develop an illness because of another person.

And by god did he believe that. 

Until he met Hibiki Kuze and his office shook without sound and his chest tightened and for the first time in all his eighteen years he could taste pollen on his tongue.

* * * 

Hibiki came into JP’s like a tornado. Makoto had found him one day out during fieldwork and he had singlehandedly defended an entire troop of defeated and worn-down agents. Hibiki had taken to the summoning app as if it ran in his blood, as if he was _made_ for it. It was magnificent.

It came as no surprise that Hibiki came from a modest upbringing. Had he not, certainly he would have been on Yamato’s radar prior to this. Yamato kept an eye on the pulse of the private schools, always on the search for the next star agent. JP’s always required new blood and when you were a secret organization you couldn’t exactly smother cork boards with wanted posters. No, you needed finesse. 

Hibiki had been surprisingly easy to onboard. Makoto had explained the job to him and, as she put it, he lit up like a Christmas tree. Yamato didn’t quite understand the expression but he trusted her. He trusted her with his life and if this civilian possessed the ability to wield demons most people shrank away from, had nightmares of, then he was worth taking a shot on. The worst case being Hibiki would die trying, and Yamato owed Hibiki nor his family anything. 

Hibiki took to summoning like a fish to water. Paperwork was a different story, as his first report contained an embarrassing amount of typos and misused analogies. It was ill-formatted and read more like a limerick than anything else. Embarrassing. Utterly embarrassing. 

But Hibiki was bright. Despite the paperweight of a report he produced - barely good enough to balance a table, to wedge it under a rusty leg - there was a shine to it. A certain finesse. 

So Yamato didn’t fire him. And he certainly didn’t meet him until months later.

* * * 

They had met on accident.

Then again, most meetings were purely accidental in nature. No one intends to meet someone new at a vending machine, on a train, walking to the checkout lane. No one intends to share more than a passing glance with a stranger. Coworkers are creatures of close proximity and necessity but even then no one truly anticipates getting to know the granular details of their soul. 

But _then again_ , no one expects to hear a voice belting out what could only be a pop song at two in the morning, accompanied with a dramatic rendition of a tango with a mop.

“What are you doing?”

Hibiki glanced up and out of whatever daze he had been in, whatever far away fantasy, and nearly shrieked. A distinct record-scratch sounded in the distance and to make matters worse, so much worse, the boy dropped the mop in a loud clatter.

“...Cleaning does not require a soundtrack.” 

Hibiki’s face surged a myriad of red and then he sputtered. The boy, with bright blue eyes that nearly blinded Yamato in the dim light of the hallway, _sputtered_ and lifted his hands up as if he had been caught red handed. It was absurd. 

“I’m not actually a janitor,” Hibiki said and then quickly saluted and added, “Sir!” in the least impressive voice Yamato had ever heard. 

“So it would seem. You were holding it upside-down,” Yamato deadpanned. 

“...Well yeah, the bottom looks looks like hair and—“

“Like hair.”

Realizing the error of his ways, Hibiki ducked his head down. It was a poor excuse for a bow but it allows Yamato to see small little curls falling all around his pale face and the ears to an article of clothing sticking out from his JP’s jacket. 

“You must be Agent Kuze,” Yamato said at last, arms folded so tightly to his chest that it looked painful. 

“That’s me!” Hibiki smiled, head shooting up, and those eyes again rattled Yamato to the core. 

It felt familiar. It felt unnervingly _familiar_ and Yamato found himself grinding his teeth for stability. His body stiffened and he flicked his gaze away. This was all so, so absurd. 

“Oh.”

Hibiki spoke again, realization washing over his stupidly pretty face. “You must have been working. I’m so sorry. I honestly thought I was the only one left at this hour so I was — taking a break. Just a short one. It’s good for blood flow!”

Yamato blinked at him. Hibiki blinked back.

“It’s a catchy song. It’s been in my head all day.”

Yamato continued to stare, expression growing more and more steeped in confusion. “Is it, now?” said utterly blandly. 

“Yeeeeep.” Hibiki cleared his throat and pivoted. “I should get back to that report. I need it done by tomorrow — not like you don’t know that! I should go. Sir. Sorry again.”

Like a frightened but stupidly excitable rabbit Hibiki scampered off back down the hall. At least he had the common decency to take the mop with him.

* * * 

Meeting Hibiki had been the start of a wildfire. It was quiet at first, contained, but it grew in size, in _heat_ in record time. It consumed and blazed and struck down everything in its way in such a glorious display of reds and yellows and magnificence being. Yamato had never minded fire but he was due for a burn eventually.

* * * 

Hibiki easily climbed the ranks. He was the star rookie and then the star Agent. Despite his curly handwriting and his sloppy reports he sparkled in a way Yamato couldn’t deny. No, he didn’t shine, because the world left a bitter taste in Yamato’s mouth and he could never discern why.

But even so. Even so Hibiki easily captivated the entirety of JP’s. There wasn’t a demon he couldn’t handle, trick, defeat. Hibiki was quick on his feet and agile and smart and everything a good agent could be. Sure, he was a bit loud and dramatic, but apparently that endeared the masses. 

Except for Yamato. Because Yamato didn’t spend much time around him because all he needed was Makoto and everyone else were necessary cogs in a machine he entrusted Makoto to supervise on his behalf. It was his machine and Makoto was his trusted engineer. 

But Hibiki had set fire to that, too. 

Hibiki had a strange habit of always working late. Most agents left by eight and some even earlier. No one ever stayed past nine. Except Hibiki. Hibiki stayed until two in the morning each and every night and then would roll back in at nine-thirty, bright eyed and ready for action. Or so the reports told him. 

Hibiki quit the singing and the months - five now - of Hibiki working for JP’s had been uneventful. The only real indication that Hibiki was still at the office was the faint glow from down the hall where his tiny office resided. Yamato often wondered if he fell asleep every night until early morning and then shuffled home to shower but he could hardly care less. Hibiki was not his to babysit. 

But they were bound to interact more besides passing one another in the hall. 

Five months and Hibiki had finally broken the invisible, chilly wall that blocked off Yamato’s office from every commoner. Hibiki had burst through it at one in the morning with a box of truffles, drenched hair, and a red nose. 

“...Kuze what are you doing?”

It didn’t take a genius to know who was standing in his doorway at this god forsaken hour. Frankly Yamato got the most work done at this time but tonight seemed to be prime for inconveniences and deviations. 

“I’m—“ Hibiki lifted up his arm that wasn’t holding the box and sneezed into it. “I’m okay,” he said quickly and then shuffled over to present the box. “Do you like chocolate?”

“Chocolate.”

Yamato, unimpressed to the very core, eyed the soggy box. His hands laced together neatly and his head cocked to the right, just enough so that the light caught his eyes. He was told it made him look intimidating. He didn’t much care. 

“Yup! Truffles, actually. There’s a few raspberry, strawberry — oh! And white chocolate too but who even counts that?” 

Hibiki rambled as if Yamato were actually listening. As if he were actually interested in whatever Hibiki had deigned to show him. To show as much, a thin, silvery eyebrow crept up his face and he blinked. Repeatedly. 

“I do not eat sweets.”

“I— really?” Hibiki deflated much like how Yamato imagined a ballon would. 

“They are unnecessary calories with a week’s worth of sugar,” Yamato explained, thinly, eyes lifting from the sad little truffles up to the even sadder Agent. 

In that moment Hibiki looked young. He looked like a boy, soft and full of wonder and aspiration and life. He looked like a face Yamato once knew but — but that couldn’t be right. He had met Hibiki here, in this very building, five months ago. He had barely interacted with him. He was a stranger just like the rest. So why...

“You should try one. They’re itty-bitty,” pressed Hibiki as he jostled the box. “I — got one just for you.”

The hesitation in Hibiki’s voice was not lost on Yamato. On the contrary, Yamato honed in on it like a weakness, his mind running through the possibilities and implications. Why would Hibiki do something so absurdly random? Why would he act as if they were any type of acquaintances?

“Did you now? How presumptuous.”

But it amused him. It amused him because no one had ever dared to be so blunt with their intentions before. Hibiki had presented a box of chocolates and then explained he had picked one out just for his boss. Most agents would quibble at the thought. But not Hibiki. Like a wildfire, he certainly burned brighter than the rest. 

“Kind of,” Hibiki agreed and it was a dorky smile hidden behind wet bangs and another shake of the box. “It’s the one in the corner. It’s a dark chocolate with a blackberry drizzle.”

Yamato had never told him he didn’t like sweets. He had never indicated that dark chocolate would’ve been the only exception, nor had he ever told him he was a fan of blackberries. So why?

“...Thank you,” is all Yamato could manage. 

It was the first nice thing anyone had ever done for him. It was thoughtful and strangely sweet and surprising and out of place and—

And why didn’t it feel like the first time?

* * * 

Yamato’s answer came in the middle of a rainstorm.

Hard at work at his desk, digging up old files to check on Seals. His answer for why Hibiki felt like an old familiar book that’d been on his shelf for years smacked him upside the head in the middle of a paragraph on seismic shifts. 

His fingers froze on the keyboard. It was all blue. All he could see was blue, blue, blue until all he could see was a face and a bright light and nothing. It was cold and dark and god he had been floating, right? And that place - that dark place and then that bright place—

Shining One. 

Alcor. 

_Hibiki_.

His hand had thrust itself into his hair at that point. He cradled his head, desperate for the feeling of nausea to go away. These memories. These memories weren’t _his_. 

And yet. And yet nothing felt more like him than ever before. He had never felt more himself than in those painful moments. 

Polaris. 

Canopus. 

_Hibiki_.

Yamato lurched forward and coughed into his hand. His world was spinning and his heels dug so harshly into the rug beneath his desk that it almost tore. 

Demons. 

The Stratum. 

_Hibiki_.

His chest ached and it burned. By god did it burn as he dug his nails tightly enough into his palms. He didn’t bleed. But he coughed. He coughed three more times and it felt as if his lungs were on fire. Just like the fire from —

Arcturus. 

Yamato felt dizzy. He felt faint. He slowly came back to, pale and breaking out in a cold sweat. He sat back up and stared blankly at his office. It all made sense now. Everything. This world and his past and —

And splashed across his desks were the prettiest blue petals he had ever, _ever_ seen.

* * * 

He didn’t believe in love.

Or at least, before that rainy day he only believed in the chemical reaction that made two people crave physical attention for the sake of continuing the human race and finding shelter and security. Crass and basic. 

But he didn’t believe in romance. Not really. It was just as made up as that damn disease was. 

Yamato Hotsuin had been wrong about two things that day, it seemed.

* * * 

Yamato canceled his meetings for the rest of the day. Every few moments he was dragging a perfect petal out from between his teeth. Sometimes they’d get stuck at the top of his throat and others would get lodged in his throat and he’d start hacking in the most undignified fashion.

Unfortunately, that spurred the suspicion of the ever dutiful Makoto. She stepped inside - as she always did after knocking twice - with grace and poise. It vanished in an almost comical widening of her eyes. 

“S-sir!”

He hadn’t even had the time to rip the petal out of his mouth and toss it in the trash. What had he become?

“A demon,” ground out Yamato with all the vexation in the world. “A demon’s Curse. I am going to conduct a thorough investigation on—“ he began tersely before he coughed again and a few petals spilled out from between his fingers. 

“I...” Makoto began and then stopped herself. “Permission to speak plainly, Sir.”

He didn’t need to hear it. He didn’t need to hear her say the words he knew were on her tongue. Would be on anyone’s tongue had they found in such a way. Anyone would instantly suspect unrequited love and that damned disease. Anyone would jump to the conclusion that Yamato Hotsuin, the cold and stoic Chief, was capable of a feeling or two and it all had cosmically blown up in his face. 

And they’d laugh. He’s certain they would laugh and think it just. He had never cared much for the opinions of his staff but in that moment he felt raw, exposed and he knew something most would look at with sympathy would only be a tool of mocking. Yamato Hotsuin was not impenetrable. He was human after all. And he hated it. 

“What is it, Sako?”

Makoto restlessly shuffled closer. Her hands stayed at her side but it was clear she was itching to inspect the petals herself. 

“...My apologies,” she finally said. “I— do not know how to react,” she decided, uncertain. 

Yamato pinched the bridge of his nose, his heart finally calming down. He was fine. It all would be fine. It was a demon’s curse and it wasn’t love and this was all in his head even if for some stupid reason he hadn’t been cursed. This would all go away. 

“Do not speak a word of this to anyone,” Yamato said after what felt like ages. His chest felt strange and his limbs too and he wondered perhaps if he had been drugged. 

“I won’t, I promise, Sir,” Makoto swore as she always did and Yamato was almost convinced that was the end of it. 

But it wasn’t. Because Makoto cared on some level and years of staying by someone’s side made you care about their well-being even when they shrugged you off. 

“...Sir, if I might ask - and this will be the last of this, I assure you...” Makoto began, her words trailing off. 

It was clear what she wanted to know. And Yamato puzzled out quickly enough she wanted to know _who_ in order to reassign that person to another branch. Because she knew this had to remain a secret. She knew no one could know and that her boss didn’t want this accursed disease. 

The heel of Yamato’s palm pressed to the corner of his right eye. There was a pounding headache there, likely from his coughing fit and resurgence of memories. 

All of this was a mess. 

Yamato finally opened his eyes - tired and cranky and eying her wearily. She hadn’t left and instead stood there stock still. Yamato considered dismissing her. But he didn’t. 

Instead — “He will remain here. At my side. This will pass.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he meant.

* * * 

Hibiki’s eyes were the brightest blue he had ever seen. Hibiki’s hair had been the softest thing he had ever felt. And Hibiki’s soul and attention were the only thing he ever wanted so badly that it _hurt_.

Hibiki had been his first friend. His only friend. Hibiki had managed to change his worldview time and time again. Hibiki was the reason this damned world was still here - why things hadn’t gone up in flames and taken over by invaders. Hibiki was a hero and peculiar and sweet and dumb and naive and charming and —

And he coughed up four more petals.

It was a terrible thought, really. He had never entertained the notion of love before. He hadn’t even been physically attracted to another human being. Sex seemed mindless and impractical and romance offended his sensibilities. So why. Why was he suddenly coughing up petals that reminded him so much of Hibiki’s blue, blue eyes?

He knew it had to be Hibiki. No one else had ever caught his eye. No one else had ever forced his walls down or broadened his horizons. He just never realized he had seen it in a romantic light prior to this episode. 

And did he? Or was this all in his head? 

Hibiki clearly didn’t remember him, and besides, that had been another life. They were different people. Even Yamato saw through that horrible lie for what it was — a poor excuse to grapple with the very real possibility that he wanted Hibiki in every possible way. Love was dangerous. So, so dangerous. 

And Hibiki was wildfire.

* * * 

Wildfire that continued to spread.

Hibiki appeared in his doorway a day later. The usually chipper agent was standing there as pale as a ghost. His eyes - oh so bright usually - were vacant and he just _stood there_.

Yamato was thankful he had taken that so-called medicine to suppress his symptoms. Even if he didn’t believe in it, he didn’t need to worry a practical stranger, because seeing Hibiki after so long of not remembering made his chest ache in the worst possible way and his mouth dry and he didn’t even know what to label the feeling. 

“Sorry to bother you,” Hibiki began and he sounded so far away. 

Yamato sat up straighter, feigned indifference. It was terribly improper to harbor feeling for a subordinate. Even in his confused state Yamato knew that. 

“What is it?”

“...You said you don’t like sweets.”

“Correct, I don’t. Is that all?”

Hibiki remained near the door, his hands fidgeting with the ends of his jacket. They’d get balled up and then roll back down. 

“I just —“ Hibiki’s nose wrinkled and he looked conflicted. His shoulders rose and fell and then he risked a glance back over. Color had returned to his face and by god he was so beautiful and alive. 

“Just?”

“Thought that’s a shame because there’s a lot of good candy in Europe. And America.” 

There was a heavy silence that clung in the air. Yamato surveyed Hibiki much like he was under a microscope. The uneasy look in those usually determined and friendly blue eyes surprised him. Was Hibiki afraid? What was he afraid of? It made no sense. 

“I fail to understand how that is relevant,” Yamato murmured, brows furrowing. 

“...Just rambling.” And Hibiki looked disappointed. He looked downright sad and it was remarkable that Yamato of all people could parse that out through the droop of Hibiki’s brows. 

“About Eur—“ Yamato began but then stopped mid-sentence. Europe. America. Those were places that were decidedly not Japan. Those were places you had to travel to. Yamato blinked and he lowered his gaze, eyes sharp and searching. “Are you planing a trip?”

It was carefully worded. Careful because if Hibiki didn’t remember he wouldn’t find it peculiar to ask, and careful because if he did, by god if he did, he’d catch on.

Hope spread across Hibiki’s features like the wildfire he was. “Mm. I am, actually. A trip around the world. It’s kind of ambitious.”

“The world,” Yamato echoed, his hands folding and he did his best not to let them shake. His friend, his only friend, he —

“Yeah. By public transportation too.”

There was a spark in Hibiki’s eyes. It was there and it was beautiful. There was hope and Hibiki had since made his way from the doorway to linger in front of Yamato’s desk. God he was almost close enough to touch but Yamato wouldn’t even know how, wouldn’t know where to begin, wouldn’t know what to do to make him smile. 

“I do hope this means that pest is no longer invited,” Yamato murmured. 

Relief rushed through him the moment Hibiki smiled as bright as the sun. That smile that - fuck, he really did _love_ that smile - could light up a room. 

“I haven’t heard from him, no. So I think it’s just the two of us. I hope you don’t mind.”

Yamato’s chest ached. Yamato’s heart hurt. Hibiki’s smile was blinding and it was all for him. In this one moment it was all for him. 

But it wouldn’t always be. Hibiki was his friend, his only friend, and Hibiki was charming and smart and witty and had far too many suitors. Far too many well-adjusted comrades to choose from. 

As relieved as Yamato was to chuckle at Hibiki, his bangs falling in his eyes as he welcomed him back, he understood something else in that moment. 

Those people, the ones he scoffed about and called weak and delusional?

He was one of them. 

Loving someone hurt more than the wildfire.


End file.
